


(Jusqu'à ce qu'on prenne) La lune avec les dents

by Phiso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, I still have all the research, M/M, Remus growing up, Unfinished, baby Remus, if there is interest in me finishing I might though, mostly here to save it from being deleted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-06-07
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phiso/pseuds/Phiso
Summary: Remus's life changed the moment he decided to dig a hole across the world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An unfinished story from my LJ that I am saving here. I have no plans to finish this, but if there's interest I might? In any case, this was written in 2010, and thus before we knew Hope Lupin was Welsh. As a result, this is back when I thought the Lupins were French. Nevertheless, I went in and changed all the names to be canon compliant, so while the culture aspect isn't, at least the names are.

**Timeline:** November 9, 1965  
**Location:** Bristol  


  


_ It was all his fault. _

_ If Sirius or James were there, they would have smacked him for being so self-pitying and set him straight. It’s not your fault, they would say, so don’t even think it, you big pansy. But they would be wrong, because it **was** his fault, all of it; none of this would have happened if it weren’t for him. _

_ Would James, Sirius, and Peter have been so close it if it weren’t for him? Would James have ever figured out how to woo Lily on his own? Would Peter have stuck around with the others for so long? Would they have joined the Order, risked their lives night after night and moon after moon, if they hadn’t known so well the names and faces of those first hit? Would there ever have been a need for a Secret-Keeper? _

_ It was undeniable. They wouldn’t have been the Marauders without him, and that would have been the best for all of them - no illegal animagi, no brotherhood, no desperate need to stay loyal and true. Peter would have given up on being the group cheerleader; Lily wouldn’t have fallen for James; Sirius wouldn’t have had such a pull and reason to rebel against his family. They all would have lived different lives, true, but at least they would still be living them. _

_ Remus dropped his face into his hands, thirty-six years feeling like too many for someone like him to still be around. _

_ It was his fault they were dead, that James and Lily and Sirius had lost their lives too early and Peter lost his way. They had all come together with the foolish mission to aid a werewolf, and that mission had ultimately caused their demise. _

_ If only he had come when he had been called. _

_ _

_ _

“Puh!” the boy scoffed, wiping his forehead with his arm in what he thought was a heroic manner, brushing off invisible sweat and really only succeeding in streaking his face with dirt. “I’ll show them.” He let out the derisive laugh he imagined villains in stories used before attacking the dirt once more with his bright red plastic shovel. “China. China, China, Chinaaaaaa!”

Five year old Remus John Lupin laughed as he sang the word out, enjoying the way it rang out in the clear autumn night. He liked the first sound, “ch” – it was not only incredibly fun to say, it reminded him of what he had heard Chinese sounded like. Lots of those weird, airy sounds that sounded halfway between a toothy growl and high pitched singing. Not that he had ever heard it spoken; that’s just what the kids at school said.

The hole he was digging wasn’t very large – right now if he were to step in it it’d only go slightly past his ankles – but really, he had just started. It would get bigger; he’d just have to keep digging. Oh, and he’d keep digging all right – he had to prove those kids from the playground wrong.

“I won’t make it to _Chiiiiina_ ,” he emphasized, smacking the little pile of dug up dirt beside him with the flat part of the shovel. “Nope nope nope – not China. Do you know why?” The shovel danced around in the air before he gently hit the top of the pile again. “Because!” Plop. “Because I’m going to Ja-paaaaaan!” Plop.

Japan, he discovered, was just as fun to say as China, and Remus sang the country names to himself as he dug. “ _Chiiii_ na, Ja _paaaan_! Not _Chiiii_ na, but Ja _paaaan_! 

“I don’t know why they think you’ll get to China.” Remus scowled just a tad before his brow smoothed out, biting his lip as he very carefully struck the edge of his shovel against the rock trapped in the dirt. “China’s not below us, haven’t they seen – oh, you rock.” He smacked it once with the bottom of his shovel before scrapping its edge against the rock’s sides with more force. “Get! Out! Get! Out! You’re going to hit the heads of the Japan people when they get over here!”

“Remus!” He heard his mum call, and he looked up, his eyes going towards the direction of the light coming out from the back door. “Remy, come back inside!”

“No!” he cried vehemently. “I’m digging a _hole_ to _Japan_. I can’t stop _now_ , I’m almost there!” Finally giving up on the rock and hoping the people from Japan wouldn’t be too mad at him if they bumped their heads on it, he continued to dig around it, going faster now that his mum was probably going to want him to stop soon. He _mustn’t_ stop! He had to get to Japan and show everyone!

A cold breeze passed through the back garden, and Remus picked up the pace, his fingers cold but his hands determined. “Remy,” he heard his mum say in her soft voice, “you’re coat’s not warm enough, and – Remus, where is your scarf?”

“I dunno,” Remus replied offhandedly, not caring a whit and not remembering anyway. “I don’ts needs one.”

“Remus, it’s cold out here, and past dark,” his mum said, her voice firm, and Remus bunched up his face in displeasure. She was going to try and get him inside! “Allons-y.”

“Is getting warmer, Mum,” Remus lied, still diligently digging away. Maybe the hole could reach his knees now! Scrambling up in excitement, he stepped inside and noted that it wasn’t quite past the first quarter of his calves yet, but it was still deeper than before.Encouraged, he flopped down on the grass and kept working. “We’re almost there, ain’t us?” he said aloud to no one in particular, excited. “Almost, almost!”

In the midst of his fervour he boy heard a very audible sigh and then the light slap of a door closing; looking up, Remus saw with triumph that his mum had left, apparently now understanding the seriousness of his quest to Japan.

There was a brief silence in which all that could be heard was the sound of his shovel scooping up dirt and the occasional breeze brushing through the leaves in the garden. It had a calming effect on little Remus, and soon he faded away into his own little world.

“I wonder if they would bring presents,” he wondered aloud as he dug. “Maybe I need some for them? I like presents.” He hummed a little as he worked, falling into a steady rhythm. Push, lift, drop. Push, lift, drop. “Christmas is coming – the cold means presents!” He suddenly paused, struck by a grave thought. “Do they have Christmas in Japan?”

It was sobering indeed, imagining a winter without Christmas, and a shiver passed through Remus as another cold wind brushed by. It felt like the cold touch of a harsh snow without an inch of colourful wrapping, and suddenly Remus wasn’t so sure if he wanted to go to a place where there wasn’t a Christmas.

He hesitated a while longer, looking up at the sky as he thought. “Whoa,” he breathed, noticing the full moon for the first time. It _had_ been brighter than usual outside, but he hadn’t really thought much of it until now.

The moon was large and round and a deep orange, making it look like someone had taken a crayon and coloured in the normally white and grey orb. It was so big Remus was sure he could pluck it out of the sky and peel it like the fruit, and suddenly he felt the urge to do so. Standing up and reaching, he swatted at it with his shovel a couple of times to knock it down before giving up, plopping himself back on the ground in irritation.

“I want orange,” he muttered to himself, glancing back at his hole. “Do you have oranges where you are, Japan? Do they taste different?” There was another pause, before, “You know, if you don’t have oranges, I can bring you some for Christmas. And if you don’t have Christmas, I can bring you Christmas for Christmas.” A broad grin crossed his face. Yes! That would be the best meeting gift ever! Japan would make him a national hero for bringing Christmas, he was sure of it, and he’d get all of the oranges England could ever want, because his mum told him the reason they didn’t always have oranges was because they could get expensive. And if Japan didn’t have oranges yet, well then he’d just give them some oranges and be a doubly national hero, and he’d probably get something even better. Like pandas, or a sword.

Suddenly invigorated by this image, Remus set back to work, digging with a renewed enthusiasm. He had to make it to Japan, he just had to! They needed Christmas! And oranges, too!

The pile beside him grew steadily taller, which encouraged him. He thought he heard his mum call him from the back door again, but he ignored it; he was getting closer, and Japan needed Christmas! It wouldn’t be fair if they never got Christmas just because he got tired and stopped digging his hole - he _had_ to keep going so that they wouldn’t be denied it any longer. And it was getting cold, too, which meant he was running out of time; they had to get Christmas before the cold passed, otherwise it wouldn’t be Christmas anymore.

When Remus started to have to lean over to each the bottom of the hole, he got excited and stood up, jumping into the hole to see how deep it was. It almost reached his knees! No, it was at his knees, maybe even a bit past them! Not much more, now!

Scrambling out, he had just seized the bright red shovel in his pudgy little hand when he heard a high pitched sound. Blinking in surprise, he looked around, wondering where it had come from. He had never heard a sound like that before. What was that?

Seconds of silence passed, and Remus lost interest, ready to go back to his hole and his quest for Japan. As soon as he had dumped himself down beside his hole again, however, he heard it again. This time it lasted much longer, and he realized that it sounded sad, maybe even hurt. He didn’t know why he thought this, but something in him told him it was true; it just didn’t sound like the sort of noise something happy would make.

The whine came again, and Remus looked around, curiosity seriously peaked now. His backyard was fenced, but they lived at the edge of the wilderness; he knew from walks with his mum that if he were to ever leave the backyard and keep walking straight, it wouldn’t take long for him to start going up a hill and lose sight of the buildings below him. It wasn’t exactly woody, but it was wild enough, and he had always hoped to run into something. Maybe an animal had snuck through the fence and was now somewhere in the backyard?

There was another whine, and this time Remus followed the sound, heading towards the cluster of bushes near a fence. Whatever it was, it definitely sounded miserable, and Remus wanted to help it.

Suddenly, it looked like someone had turned a light off; tilting his head back towards the sky, Remus watched as a cloud slid by the moon, darkening his surroundings. He found the phenomenon curious, but another keening whine called for his attention and he turned back, trying to spy what he was looking for in the bundles of leaves before him.

There was a rustle, and Remus’s heart jumped as his footfalls stilled. What was that?

A paw came out first, followed by black nose and a long snout. Soon, he realized he was facing the largest dog he had ever seen in his life.

No, not a dog, he corrected himself instinctively. This was too big for a dog. This was something else.

A wolf?

Its head was bowed; its ears lay flat on the back of his head. His tail was tucked up between his legs – Remus could see the tuft against the side of the creature’s stomach – and one of its forearms was bent and held close to its torso. His paw must be hurt somehow, the boy assumed; why else would he avoid using it? What really caught Remus’s attention, though, was the wolf’s eyes. Large and bright beneath the moon, they stared at him through the darkness, the brilliant yellow orbs emitting a light that left him transfixed.

“I ain’t never seen anything like you ‘round here. Are you hurt?” Remus finally managed to say, stepping forward. The wolf moved back, its expression cautious, and Remus immediately felt bad for scaring it. “No, it’s okay,” the little boy reassured the animal, dropping his shovel and bringing up both his hands to show they were empty. “I’m not going to hurt you. I was just digging to Japan – hey, do you want to come with me?” He smiled reassuringly. “They’re going to give me oranges. I think you’d like oranges; they’re sweet, but not.”

He reached forward with his hand so that the wolf could smell his hand and trust him; he had be told to do this when he met other’s people’s dogs, and so figured it could be applied to wolves as well. They were just big dogs after all, right?

“C’mon,” he encouraged, trying to wave the wolf forward. “It’s all right. I’m sure they’ll like you in Japan.” He noticed their surroundings grow brighter then, and he looked up just in time to see the last of the cloud pass by the bright orange moon. “See?” he beamed. “Even the moon wants you to come out and play.”

The wolf paused, giving him a curious look, before it stepped forward. Remus straightened up in eager excitement. Maybe he had a special connection with dogs! Maybe they naturally liked him. Then he could have a lot of dogs, and they’d go around together like a pack and– 

And then he heard a growl, a deep rumble that ripped through the calm night air and filled his chest, and Remus drew his hand back, eyes wide. The wolf looked angry now, its lips drawn back to reveal a mouth full of teeth that appeared to Remus to look like rows of knives; it snapped it’s jaws, and a sharp choking sound came out of the wolf so suddenly Remus jumped. Those glowing eyes didn’t look so neat anymore. 

“M-mum!” Remus cried, all thoughts of a friendly pack forgotten. His heart thumping so hard he was sure it was going to burst right out of his chest, Remus whimpered as he backed away, nearly falling over the shovel he had left forgotten on the ground. The wolf, however, was not about to let him just leave; it charged at the boy, lunging at him with a terrifying speed and a tear of a bark that nearly made Remus wet himself. Turning and nearly tripping over his own feet, he began to run as fast as he could, his legs pumping as he tried to get back to the house, his petrified mind imagining the sight of those sharp teeth cutting into him and never, ever wanting to feel it.

“MUM!” Remus shrieked, his terror cutting through the sharp burn of the cold air in his lungs; moments later, he felt the wolf’s paw catch on the hood of his coat, and he hit the ground hard, sharp twigs stabbing his hands and legs and he tried to scramble away from the creature looming above him, the warm saliva dripping onto his face. Oh no ohno it had him, it had him, _it was going to eat him_ – 

“Remus!” he heard as he struggled to get out of his coat, twisting his body so that his face wasn’t so close to its jaws. He heard its irritated snarl and saw its mouth open – _so many teeth so many teeth oh please don’t let it eat me –_ but as he saw it nearing his leghekicked the wolf once in the eyes, successfully preventing it from mauling his limbs for the time being. “Remus, what – Oh Merlin, _JOHN!”_

_ Why are there so many buttons? _ Remus thought frantically as his small fingers fumbled with them; he had always been terrible with buttons, and now he was paying the price for never wanting to practice. The boy kept kicking at the wolf’s face as he tried to break free, but he wasn’t going fast enough; his hands were shaking too much, the world spinning as he desperately tried to remember how to breathe. Every time he inhaled air in it was only to let it out in another petrified cry, and the tears streaming down his cheeks were making it hard to see, scaring him even more. The kicks weren’t really deterring the wolf anymore, either; now it was just trying to catch Remus’s legs in its teeth as the boy tried to defend himself. Remus was convinced that he was going to lose at least one body part tonight.

“ _MUM!_ ”

“ _LYALL!”_

_ “REMUS!” _

And then suddenly, Remus felt something warm and wet and jagged pierce his left calf and he screamed. 

It hurt more than anything he had ever experienced before; there was stinging pressure in his leg and his body began to spasm as the sharp, white shots of pain and burning fire filled every inch of him. He screamed until his throat was raw, unable to do anything else; he couldn’t even see – the world was blurry and dark all around him.Everything hurt – his arms, his legs, his throat and his chest and even his insides – and he could feel the wolf’s enormous paws on him, digging into him as it tried its best to keep him still. It even smelled like something strange, like wet, angry, _hungry_ dog and something metallic – 

He vaguely heard a shout and some screams, but he didn’t know where they were coming from; the only sounds he could really hear were coming from the wolf, a squishy, gnawing snarl that scraped against muscle and nerve and bone and left him staring up through the wolf’s fur at the full moon in the night sky with wide, empty eyes and an expression frozen in horror.

And then there was a yell, a flash of light, a howl, a scream, and then the world went black. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are few things more frightening than waking up and not knowing where you are.

 

_So, Remus thought. This is it. This is how it ends._

_He closed his eyes, listening. He couldn’t hear anything, not Nymphadora’s terrified scream or Dolohov’s maniacal laughter. The roar of battle was gone._

_It was over._

 

 

When Remus opened his eyes again, everything had changed.

The bright whiteness of the room nearly blinded him; squeezing his eyes back shut, Remus took the opportunity to at least take stock of what he could gather from his other senses. The bed was soft and cool beneath him, and Remus risked moving his head slightly so that he might be able to touch what felt like a pillow with the side of his face.

It didn’t smell like home; that was for sure. It was clean but stale, like a pillow that hadn’t been used in a long time. His pillow smelled different, of the soap his mom used to clean it and of the candy he would hide in the case as snacks. Not like this.

After a brief pause, Remus took in a slow, deep, and unusually difficult breath before inching his eyelids apart for another attempt. The light hit him almost immediately, and he let out a tiny moan as his hands seized the edges of the blankets and pulled them over his head, a sharp pain tearing through his chest as he did so.

There. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell that was better.

Remus laid there quietly as he just listened to himself breathe, waiting for his eyes to stop stinging so he could try and open them again. He couldn’t hear much else from beneath the blankets, but he was quickly distracted by an unpleasant sensation – the shooting pains in his chest were going away, but the deeper he tried to breathe the more it felt like something was sitting on his chest. As much as Remus preferred being under the blankets, this new development sent a streak of panic through his heart, and he felt a sense of urgency wash over him. He had to see where he was, even if it hurt, otherwise he’d never know if anyone could help him.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the boy cracked one eye open, not wanting to go through the same blinding flash a third time. The world was a strange cream colour, tinted by the blankets filtering the light, and he opened the other eye, blinking once, twice, three times to be sure he was really seeing this. Not that there was much to look at; from his vantage point, all he could really see was his elbows creating a tent with his sheets above him.

He laid still another little while longer, just getting used to seeing and breathing and listening to his heart thumping nervously in his chest, before he decided that as scary as it was to not know where he was, the only way he would ever find out would be to let the blanket down. Maybe things would be less scary that way.

Remus slowly inched the sheets down, his body aching as he did so, letting in the light bit by bit so that his eyes could get used to it. Finally, he could keep his eyes open without needing the blanket to serve as a shield, and he looked around, not feeling confident or curious enough to try and sit up.

The room itself was very sparse; there was his bed, some empty chairs against one wall, a white curtain serving as another wall, a small cabinet at his bedside, and some clipboards floating around, the quills scribbling away as he watched them.

Now that the blanket wasn’t over his head, he could hear things much clearer than before. Bemused, he did his best to focus on the sounds, which consisted of a couple of steady groans, some speaking voices, and soft sobbing, things that weren’t really very comforting at all. What was going on? Where was he, and why was he alone? Was someone crying?

The sharp sound of falling footsteps cut through air and Remus quickly shut his eyes again, unsure of whether he was supposed to be awake or not. He was in bed, after all, and his mum had always told him that he was supposed to keep his eyes closed in bed so that he could go to sleep. That’s what beds were for, he knew, to sleep in, and he didn’t want to get in trouble for not sleeping when he was supposed to be.

Remus didn’t recognize the voices when they started; they were murmuring too softly for him to be able to distinguish anything. There was a tap and the scribbling sound grew softer, and Remus guessed someone had stopped one of the quills for some reason. There was some more murmuring before some steps, and he felt a body grow closer to the side of his bed.

Doing his best to keep from appearing scared, Remus turned away, hoping that it would look like he was just dreaming; another sharp pain in his chest, however, prevented him from moving very far. The mysterious person next to him sniffed, and he felt a soft hand brush his hair from his forehead, one that smelled of sweet perfume and bread. Remus’s heart leapt; he’d recognize that scent anywhere. Mum!

Still afraid to open his eyes should he get in trouble, he concentrated on keeping appearances like those nights when he didn’t want to be caught awake after the lights had been turned off. Her hand left cool little trails on his face that tickled, and he was glad that she, at least, was here. She wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.

And then he heard another sniffle, followed by a sob; the weight on the bed shifted, and he felt an indention as his mother put her weight on the bed, the top of her head tickling his hand on top of the blankets. Suddenly, it became a lot harder to keep up his show. Was his mother crying? Why was she crying? Was she the one that had been crying before? _Where was he?_

Scared, Remus opened his eyes again slowly, hesitantly peeking up around him. There was someone dressed all in white frowning at a clipboard, and beside him his mother’s head rested on her crossed arms, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Remus’s heart jumped painfully into his throat. What was going on?

It hurt too much to swallow, let alone speak, so Remus instead lifted a small hand and carefully touched his mother’s hair with the tip of his fingers, trying to reassure her but too worried about the pain in his chest to move any further. She didn’t raise her head, but she did take his hand into hers, and the warmth of her palms reassured him. Everything would be okay.

“Oh, Remy.” Remus’s heart skipped a beat in fear at the sound of her broken voice. “My Remy, my beautiful little boy – why? _Why?_ ”

And before he could say a word or move an inch, she was up again, her face buried in her hands as she left his bedside, every one of her sobs terrifying the boy more and more.

The person in white took that moment to write something on the clipboard in his hand before tapping it with his wand; a quill appeared and immediately started scribbling again, and the stranger glanced at him for a second before leaving.

“What did it say?” Remus heard a familiar voice from behind the curtain, and his ears perked up. Hey was - was that his dad?

“His right lung is recovering well from the rupture,” he heard a man say, “but the left one isn’t regenerating as quickly. We’ll give it another hour, and if there aren’t any improvements, we’ll administer another round of spells.”

“And the leg?” Remus noted his dad sounded a lot gruffer than usual, and wondered if his mum’s crying had anything to do with it. He shrunk back into his sheets. Was that his fault? Was his dad mad at him for making his mum cry? Did he know Remus wasn’t really asleep?

“It’s taking longer,” the stranger answered in an oddly bored voice. “The bone shards aren’t disappearing as quickly as I’m sure you would like, and the nerves in that area are still overactive. He’ll get another round of painkillers within the next hour as well.”

Remus didn’t really understand anything he was hearing, but whatever it was, it sounded bad. His heart and breathing began to speed up in panic, and the pain it caused in his chest drew another whimper from him; there was a rush of footsteps, and suddenly the stranger was back, Remus’s father close behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Remus cried, his lip quivering when he saw his father’s face. “I know I’m supposed to be asleep, but I just woke up, and – Dad, my chest hurts.”

But strangely enough, his dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at Remus; his eyes stayed resolutely glued to the end of the bed, his face ashen and looking very, very tired.

“Dad?” Remus ventured again, trying to sit up; the movement required him to use his arms and legs, though, and as soon as he had moved his left leg it felt like a lightning bolt had run through him. He let out a howl of pain as he fell back, his eyes wide in shock as the tears streamed down his cheeks.

His dad continued to stare at the foot of the bed as the stranger took out his wand and began waving it over Remus, muttering a few things before pulling out a goblet from cabinet’s drawers; a tap of the wand, and it was full. Remus, who normally fairly cooperative for his age, began to squirm at this point, not wanting this stranger to touch him unless his dad said it was okay.

“Dad? Dad!” Remus shifted away from the stranger, soft whines escaping him as the pain in his leg began spreading again. “Daddy, what’s going on? Dad, where am I? Are they going to give that to me? Why? Daddy? _Dad!_ ”

Remus watched in mounting horror as his father merely sighed and walked away with a grey, pained face – _What? Where was he going? Why was he leaving?_ \- as the stranger none too kindly shoved him against the mattress and harshly jammed the goblet into his mouth, forcing him to swallow. The boy was so surprised he barely gasped; the last thing he remembered hearing before he slipped away was the sound of his mother’s cries growing louder.

 

\---

 

Remus had no idea how long he had been in that mysterious place; whenever he woke up, within ten minutes the pain would return and within fifteen they had him back under. He caught glimpses of people every time – those strangers in their white robes, mostly – but no one, not even his parents, would speak to him. His mother would be crying when she was around, always crying, grasping at his hands as though they were a lifeline and littering his face with gentle kisses before abruptly leaving. His father, in turn, would simply look anywhere but him; even the floor seemed to be more interesting than his son. It didn’t matter if he spoke, yelled, cried, sang, or even fought back; no one ever answered his questions or said anything to him directly. It was as if they couldn’t even hear him.

Worst of all, whenever he was asleep he kept having these terrible dreams that would frighten him even when he was awake. They were always very difficult to follow, but somehow that didn’t matter; all it would take was a vision of the moon, a low growl, and a flash of fur for his leg to sting even in his sleep and his heart to wake him up with a pounding start.

He wanted to stay awake because that meant he could stay away from the horrible images, but every time he woke up they forced him back; it felt like they wanted him to live in perpetual fear, reliving the same night over and over without any explanation as to why. What had happened? Had he done something wrong? He had tried to be nice to the dog, and it had bit him; he had behaved really well with the people in white at first, but they wanted him to keep having nightmares anyway. Why wouldn’t they just tell him what he was doing wrong so they could stop punishing him? Was it because he hadn’t gone inside when his mum had told him to?

After being ignored for the fourth time, Remus began to worry that maybe the reason no one could hear him was because he was dead. That didn’t really make sense – after all, they kept making him drink things – but why else could they not hear him? Why else would his dad look so pale and scared, his mum cry all the time over him? He didn’t know anything about death except that people got sad about it and that people talked about everything being all in white and that the dead person would never talk again, and that all seemed to fit. What if he had been dead this entire time?

Once this worry had seeped into his brain, it left Remus even more terrified to go back to sleep lest he never see his parents again. He began to dread the strangers in white, convinced that they were beings sent to try and keep him in the world of the dead and keep him away from the living. Every time they tried to give him a potion he would fight back, thrashing about despite the pain; it didn’t really work most of the time, but as soon as he had tried biting one of them, they immediately drew back. They left him alone for awhile after that, the boy morbidly pleased by the power he seemed to have over them and feeling triumphant despite the sharp throbbing in his leg and the huge weight on his chest. This one victory didn’t last long, though; twenty minutes later they came back and simply hit him with a binding spell before administering the potion again. Every time after that they would simply petrify him before even attempting anything, and Remus began to fret again, convinced he was losing an incredibly important battle.

Eventually, though, when he would regain consciousness it wouldn’t require so much effort to breathe and his leg wouldn’t hurt as much, and they would let him stay awake longer. Remus wondered if that meant he was getting better, and if that in turn meant that he would be allowed to live, but seeing as no one was explaining anything to him, only muttering darkly amongst each other, he had no idea. He was still in danger, he could tell, but no one was helping him! What was he supposed to do?

And then one day in his desperation he muttered weakly to one of the strangers that he was thirsty, and lo and behold, she actually brought him a small glass of water. He initially thought it was the same potion in a new presentation and inched away from the cup, but the woman in white shook her head.

“It’s just water,” she explained, continuing to offer it to him with a strange look.

Remus, who had scrambled up against his pillow with a guarded, almost animal expression on his face, eyed the clear glass before looking at the woman, unsure of whether or not he should trust her. He wanted to stay alive, and who knew what that drink would do to him?

“I wanna stay awake,” he said clearly, staring at her with a disarming amount of determination.

There was a pause as the two sized each other up, the woman confused, the boy cautious.

“It’s just water,” the woman finally repeated, an expression of dawning comprehension on her face. “It won’t make you go to sleep. It’s just water.”

The boy stayed absolutely still as he studied the woman before him, obviously not convinced. Finally, she sighed and took a sip herself before offering it to the boy again, whose expression had gone from shock to relief.

Taking the glass from her – he didn’t notice how quickly she retracted her hand – he greedily downed its contents, the water tasting delicious in his dry mouth. If his mum could see him now she would be disgusted with how rudely he slurped down the water, but he was so tired and dehydrated he couldn’t find the energy to care.

“Thank you,” he murmured politely, returning the glass once it was empty. His stomach felt heavy and strangely empty, but at least his tongue didn’t feel too big for his mouth anymore.

The woman blinked in surprise and stared at him; Remus blinked back, curious. What? He had said thank you, like his mum had always told him to. Why was she looking at him like that?

A few seconds passed and she recovered, shaking her head before taking the glass with a gloved hand – had she always been wearing gloves? Did they all? - and hurrying away, leaving Remus alone with his thoughts.

She had seen him, heard him, _spoken_ to him. You couldn’t do that with dead people, could you?

So, maybe he wasn’t dead after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus learns what he is.

_“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Sirius said fiercely, blocking the exit to their dorm with his body._

_“There’s nothing wrong with me?” Remus repeated in a strained voice, its pitch rising in either anger or fear, he couldn’t tell. He was driven into such frenzy he was practically tearing the hair out of his head as he paced back and forth the messy dorm room, unable to understand the others’ thinking. He turned into a blood-thirsty, vicious monster one a month, and they were telling him that there was nothing wrong with him._

_They were even bigger idiots than Remus had originally thought._

_“Are you completely, absolutely daft?” Remus felt a flare of angry panic grow inside him, his heart pounding in his ears as his hands clenched into fists. “Do you speak English? You just said it yourself, I – I’m – “_

_“So what if you are?” Peter piped up defiantly from his bed. He sat up straighter, his expression resolved, like a solider ready for battle. “That doesn’t matter to us.”_

_“It’s just - you – you’ve just got a problem,” James supplied firmly, his brow furrowed in determination. Remus only succeeded in staring at him blankly. “It’s just - that’s - that’s all you’ve got, mate, a furry problem. You’re still Remus.”_

 

  
If Remus thought being ignored was the worst that could happen to him, he was sorely mistaken; he immediately began wishing for his solitude again when he awoke to a circle of people in white around him, his parents at his bedside.

What was going on? His heart began race, utterly lost as to what was happening. Why did his parents look so sad? Why did the strangers in white look so serious? He had finally figured out he wasn’t dead, but – but – was he dying?

“Am I dead?” Remus asked in a small voice, his eyes large and scared in his pale face.

A strange, choked sound escaped his mother, and a sharp bolt of terror filled Remus’s heart. His father wrapped his arm around her in comfort while the strangers all exchanged looks, one of them even going so far as to roll his eyes.

“I-I am, aren’t I?” Remus wailed, the grip on his blankets tightening as he pulled them up near his chin like a shield. No, he wasn’t dead, everyone was still there, he was still talking, he couldn’t be! He wouldn’t let those white robes take him, he wanted to stay with mum and dad, _no no NO he wasn’t dead_! “B-but I don’t want to be dead, I-I want to go h-home – ”

“You’re not dead,” his father finally interrupted, the first words Remus had heard directed to him in what felt like years. The man’s eyes may have been fixed on a spot on his blanket, but he had addressed Remus directly! The room practically tiled before the boy’s eyes as he went dizzy with relief, and he reeled in silence for a moment as he tried to calm him breathing.

“Then,” Remus sniffed at last, confused. “Then what am I? Where am I?”

The looks on the strangers’ faces grew more uncomfortable, and they began to shift in place, making Remus very nervous. Why were they acting like that?

“Mum?” he ventured, his face trying hard to keep from bursting into tears as another stifled sob tore from her throat. “Mum?”

“You’re a werewolf,” deadpanned one of the strangers at last, the one who had rolled his eyes. Remus turned to look at him, completely lost, as a ringing silence filled the room. The others began to inch away slowly from the bed and from the one who had spoken, but Remus barely registered this; he was too busy trying to understand what he had just been told.  
  
“A where?” Remus tried to echo what was said, hoping it would help in his comprehension, and winced. His voice suddenly seemed both too loud for the moment and too small to fill the room, and he felt like that one time he had started to talk during church and everyone glared at him angrily for breaking the rule of silence. “A wol -”

“A werewolf,” the man repeated, still sounding bored but now a bit irritated too; Remus suddenly realized that he was also the one that sounded bored every time he spoke. “You were bitten by a werewolf on the night of a full moon, which means that you’re one now, too.”

Remus’s eyes widened in fear as the man continued to speak, coldly reciting fact after horrifying fact that the poor boy could barely begin to wrap his mind around. He was a werewolf? He was going to turn into a wolf? When? And there was something about the moon –

“Are you listening to me?” the man in white snapped, and Remus was so startled he lost his hold on his tears. He didn’t understand! Why was the man being so mean when he was trying to understand?

“I – I – I’m trying!” Remus stammered thickly, wishing he could stop crying.

“You’re obviously not trying hard enough,” the man said harshly, and Remus curled in on himself, ashamed. “If you want any chance of surviving, you’d better - ”

“You’re scaring him,” interrupted another stranger quietly, and Remus barely recognized through his tears that she was the one that had given him water. “He’s not going to understand if he’s afraid.”

“He should be afraid!” retorted the man heatedly, his neck and face turning a splotchy pink. “He’s a monster now, he’s not just some puppy, and the likelihood of him getting past the next month is nil all – ”

Monster? He was a monster?

Remus had a sudden flashback to one late summer night, when he had innocently inquired what his father did while he was away from home all day. His mother had sweetly replied that he spent his days helping to make monsters go away, so that people would be able to sleep safely in their beds at night.

Was he one of those monsters now?

Remus didn’t realize he was shaking until he felt his mother’s hand on his head, brushing the hair back, albeit hesitantly.

“Mum,” he whispered in a quivering voice, looking up at her with tear-stained cheeks. “Am I really a monster?”

The expression on her face, the look of mingled sorrow and horror and pain, said everything to him, and in that moment, in the midst of the argument erupting around him, Remus tuned the world out and abruptly decided to stop listening.

\----

It was refreshing for once to be the one ignoring everyone.  
  
It was also kind of interesting how they all seemed to treat him differently; they didn’t meet his eyes, and if he ever did ask a question, they would respond right away before leaving. It didn’t take too long for him to finally learn where he was – St. Mungo’s, a hospital – who the people in the white robes were – Healers, who were supposed to be helping him get better - and how long he had been there – about a week. He also noticed they stopped sending the mean Healer to tend to him, something for which Remus was grateful. He hated that man.

Still, the cruel Healer’s words echoed in his mind, and his mother’s face that day was permanently ingrained in his memory. He was a werewolf, a monster. He should be afraid of himself, the same way everyone else seemed to be; after all, even his own dad wouldn’t look at him.

Did his parents really think he was a monster? Didn’t that make it true? Things were different now, he knew, and it worried him. Were they going to stop loving him, now that he was a monster? Was he going to be confined to beneath the bed or in the closet? Or worse – would his dad insist on getting rid of him? Couldn’t he be a good monster, a cuddly one that ate biscuits and milk and not people? Surely not all monsters were bad, right?

It didn’t help that the mean Healer had pretty much said he wasn’t going to be alive this time next month. It brought the undercurrent of panic to a whole new level – not only was he a monster, he was a monster that was doomed to die, and soon. The rest of his short existence was to be spent feared by everyone, living under the bed and unloved by his own parents. The thought sobered the small child, and was a large part of the reason he was prone to his long silences, desperately trying to figure out how to win back the affection of his mother and father, how to keep from being thrown away.

He still didn’t know what that meant, exactly, being dead, but the way everyone talked about it certainly gave off the impression that it was something he definitely didn’t want to be. He knew it meant he would be gone forever, sent to a place where no one could find him, but it sounded so scary, and maybe even painful, the way that Healer made it sound. He didn’t want to leave his parents, he wanted to just stay home and go to school like normal! Why was he going to die? Was it because he was a monster? Were they going to kill him because of it? Was that why it was going to hurt? What did that even mean?

Once he could stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, they began testing him like crazy, which only added to his unhappiness. Blood tests, skin tests, hair samples, potions, stool samples – they even took his nail clippings! It felt like they were trying to take him apart, piece by piece, and Remus worried that they might actually succeed. Did they want to rebuild him? Did his parents want a new little boy for after he was gone, one that wasn’t a monster? Remus wouldn’t blame them if they did.

It was impossible to keep track of time – Remus couldn’t really read clocks very well, he had just started to recognize times like bedtime and nap time and tea time, but none of that was of any use here – and days passed by like whispers. Remus wished he had a window to look out of, or maybe something to do. It got really boring lying by himself, and it seemed like there wasn’t anyone else behind the curtain besides this old guy who would groan terribly all day and make him extremely nervous. He wasn’t going to be alive that much longer, and he didn’t like knowing he was wasting what precious time he had left stuck in bed.

Since the days seemed to stretch on forever, it made everything feel that much more eternal. His hunger was especially insatiable; they wouldn’t feed him more than this foul-tasting porridge designed to fill him up, but it was so disgusting he could barely swallow it. He craved real food like a bad itch; he wanted meatballs, hamburgers, roast beef, lamb, chicken - anything that was hearty and salty and juicy. While he wasn’t really in the mood for vegetables, even the word “potato” had him salivating; the idea of an apple seemed like a dream, and sweets like chocolate? He would die happy if he could have a bar of chocolate.

At last, at long, long last, he was told he was going home. He had never felt so happy in his entire life; it felt as though his heart might burst from joy. He jumped out of bed when he heard that, so elated he was ready to just fly home; however, it was only two steps before Remus fell painfully to the floor, clutching his leg as he curled in on himself, howling in pain.

He would have to be very careful walking for awhile, he found out. He was pretty much healed, but since he had been in bed for such a long time and the pain wasn’t completely gone, using the leg normally would be a slow process.

Despite this bad news, Remus was just happy to be out of there, even with his painful limp. He never wanted to see those white curtains, those uncomfortable beds, those mean people ever again.

“I’m never coming back here again,” Remus declared as they left the building, the boy holding his mother’s hand tightly as though afraid she might run away without him. “I don’t like it here.”

He had expected his parents to agree, to assure him that he wouldn’t need to, but all he got was an uncomfortable silence.

“What?” he asked, looking from his mother to his father and back of them, both of them resolutely looking anywhere but their son. He decided to plunge in, hoping for some answers. “I’m going to die soon anyway. I dunno why I’d have to come back.”

He felt his mother stiffen beside him as they came to a halt, and Remus looked up expectantly. Her eyes were shiny as they stared at the stone floor of the floo network room, and her hand came up to ruffle his hair before gently cupping his cheek and pressing him against her. The amount of affection in her movements filled Remus with a longing he hadn’t fully realized he had, but also worry; her hand had felt awfully urgent and scared, and she hadn’t said anything.

“We’ll see about that,” his father said gruffly. He said nothing more, only looked around before seizing a handful of powder from a small pot by one of the fireplaces. Remus watched as his father called out his home address and disappeared into the green flames, but instead of feeling the usual sense of wonder that came with floo travel, he only felt dread. How many more times would he get to use floo powder? Would he ever see that again?

“Let’s go home, Remy,” his mother said softly, and Remus clutched his mother’s warm wool coat in his hands as together they followed her husband’s example.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lying was bad, Remus was told, except when it wasn't. Which, apparently, was going to be much more often than he had thought.

 

_“You know,” Sirius had said, his voice tight and uncertain, “sometimes...sometimes I wonder.”_

_Remus turned to look at Sirius, curiously wary. His friend’s back was to him, his black hair and robes standing out sharply against the white snow like an old photograph, the contrast so great it gave Remus the sudden urge to look down at his scarf, just to make sure the world hadn’t been drained of colour._

_“Wonder what, Padfoot?” Remus asked in what was supposed to be a cheery voice, hoping to lighten the mood and failing miserably. His ungloved fingers played with the edges of his Gryffindor scarf, worried._

_“I...” Sirius hesitated, and Remus’s heart jumped into his throat. Sirius never hesitated._

_“Sirius?”_

_“Sometimes I feel like you only do things because we ask you to, not because you want to,” Sirius finally blurted, jerking his head fiercely to the side. Remus felt himself grow cold, and his eyes fell back to his scarf. Still red._

_“What do you mean, Sirius?” Remus managed, surprised by how normal he sounded. What was wrong with him? Surely this was not a normal time to sound normal._

_“I mean,” Sirius huffed, turning around at last and revealing a face far more flushed and nervous than Remus had expected. “I feel like sometimes you just say what you think we want to hear, like you’d do anything we’d ask, even the stupidest shit, because you’re – I don’t know, it’s like you’re fucking grateful we even talk to you, and damn it, Moony, I hate that. You’re not a fucking charity case, you know, you’re a human being. It’s okay to grow a fucking backbone once in awhile. We’re not going to stop talking to you just because you don’t agree.”_

 

 

For the fourth time that week, Remus woke up screaming.

Once he remembered that he was safe in his room and not in the backyard, he sat quietly in his bed, sniffling worriedly into the pillow held in his arms as he strained his ears for the sound of footsteps, waiting for his comfort. It was coming, it had to be coming. Mum wouldn’t leave him alone when he was this scared; there was no way she could sleep through the loud thumping in his chest. No way.

There was silence for a few moments before he finally heard a creak and the soft, slow padding of his mother’s slippers on the floor. A gust of wind blew by outside at the same time, and the shadows began to dance around the room, the long crooked fingers of the branches of the tree outside reaching for him at all sides. Remus stared resolutely at the door, refusing to look anywhere else as he listened to her walk; he was absolutely sure that as long as he waited for his mother and didn’t pay the shadows any mind, they couldn’t hurt him.

The footsteps stopped outside his room, and Remus straightened expectantly, his poor heart still pounding in his ears. There was a soft sigh before it creaked open, and for a wild, breathless instant Remus thought he might see another wolf ready to eat him, teeth glistening and fur on edge, a nightmare come to life. But before he could properly wrap his mind around the possibility, however, he saw his mother and the threat instantly disappeared.

“Mummy!” Remus stretched his arms desperately out for a hug. The skin beneath his cheeks pulled against itself as he spoke, his drying tears leaving stiff tracks on his face. “Mummy, I – he – th-the wolf, it was back, i-it - ”

“Shhh.” His mother made her way over to him, switching the lamp on as she did, and Remus strained his arms further, unable to wait any longer for her warmth. “There is no wolf, mon petit prince,” she assured him, the lines on her face looking deeper in the light and a strange, almost frightened look in her eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

As soon as he could smell her mummy smell, made up of baked goods and sweet perfume, Remus’s heart leaped in anticipation, but instead of an embrace, he felt her hand on his shoulder, gently leading him back down towards the sheets.

“You are safe at home,” his mother continued, carefully prying the pillow out of his arms in spite of his cries of protest and placing it neatly beneath his head. “No wolf will come and eat you.”

“But I saw him, I saw him,” Remus insisted, trying to sit back up again to get the hug he so craved. She didn’t see how angry he was, how huge. “He was big and angry and he had teeth and fur and - ”

“You are safe,” she repeated firmly but not unkindly, still pushing him down. “I promise.”

Why wasn’t she hugging him? Remus didn’t understand why she wasn’t hugging him. Didn’t she understand? Didn’t she know that when he was in her arms it felt like she could keep all the monsters away? Remus frowned. Was that why she didn’t want to hug him? Was it because he was a monster, like the man in the white coat had said?

“But,” he tried again, interrupted once more by another hush. The mattress near his feet dipped in, and he felt her hand rubbing his back soothingly, familiar words washing over him.

  _L’était une petite poule grise_

_Qu’allait pondre dans l’église_

_Pondait un petit coco_

_Que l’enfant mangeait tout chaud_

  
Remus sniffled, recognising the song and humming along almost silently, his voice only managing every few notes. As nice as it admittedly was, he didn’t want her hand on his back. He wanted her embrace, wanted to be held and surrounded by her warmth. He wanted to remember that he was her one and only and know that even if he was a monster that she would still love him anyway. That she would always be his mummy and he her petit prince.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked softly once the song was finished. She sounded tired, sleepy, almost sad, and suddenly Remus felt terribly guilty and alone. Once upon a time she would lie in bed with him, singing to him quietly until they both dozed off, or she would rock him in her arms, the pair falling asleep in that position. Now, ever since he had come back from that white place, she wouldn’t even hug him for a second. Now, she just rubbed his back and sang one song. And Remus had the horrible feeling that it was somehow his fault.

Remus nodded and made what he thought was a sleepy sound, not really tired but wanting her to love him again. It was because he was a monster, he was sure of it, and so he was determined to do whatever he could to make her see past that, to make her remember what he had never forgotten. She was tired and sleepy and obviously didn’t want to hug him, and while the selfish part of Remus wanted her to stay, an even more selfish part of him wondered if she would like him better if he let her do what she wanted.

“Good night,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his forehead like a whisper before she tucked the sheets in around him, clicked off the light, and closed the door carefully behind her.

“Night,” Remus muttered back into his pillow once she was gone, his voice sounding pitifully small in the vast emptiness left in her wake. Curling into himself, he sniffled again, still staring at the door and willing her to come back with all of his might.

Well, at least she was still coming every time he had a nightmare, he reminded himself with a small sigh. Daddy had stopped coming two days ago.

 

  
\------

 

“Our Father, how’s art in Heaven, Howard be thy name...”

“Remus, come here, please.”

Remus looked up curiously from his bedside, twisting his body so that he might look outside his room and find the source of his mother’s voice. Were his parents calling him? Did they want to play with him a little before bedtime, or maybe read him a story?

Scrambling up, he hurried to where he thought his parents might be: the kitchen. They were in there a lot these days, talking and arguing and making a lot of tea. Remus didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, but every now and then snippets would float up to his room, and he’d grow worried. It just didn’t sound like happy conversation. They yelled and hushed each other too much for that. But his mum didn’t sound as tense as she usually did when she was mad, so Remus had hope. Maybe this was for something good.

“Remus?”

“Coming!” Starting in surprise, he scurried to the kitchen, hoping he was right about where they were; he didn’t want to start another fight by making them wait. Luckily he had guessed correctly, and he breathed a sigh of relief that was hidden in his small gasps for air. Whatever they wanted him for, he hoped it wouldn’t involve yelling.

There was a brief silence in which Remus waited at the entrance, unsure of where to go. He fidgeted uncomfortably as his parents merely stared at him, no books or toys in their hands, and he found himself looking down at his matching pyjamas. What did they want?

“Here,” he finally said shyly, his hands playing nervously with the edge of his shirt.

“Remus, how are you feeling tonight?” his mother asked kindly, and Remus peeked up at her through his fringe. She looked a little tired, but not angry.

“Fine,” he answered, unsure of what they were getting at. There was another pause, so Remus filled it with, “I was doing my prayers”, hoping it’d be something else they’d want to hear.

“That’s very good, Remus,” his mother responded with a small nod, and while encouraging, Remus couldn’t help but notice that his dad wasn’t moving. He just kept staring at his cup of tea, which looked kind of cold from where Remus was standing; after all, there were no little cloud-things above it. How long had he been staring at it?

The pauses kept coming, and frankly they made Remus anxious; they used to never be a quiet family before. Before, they’d sing and laugh and tell stories at all hours of the day; now, his parents just nodded and smiled stiffly and looked weary and scared all the time.

“Have I been a good monster?” he finally muttered, dropping his gaze again. “I’m trying.”

His father sighed strangely, like he was some sort of tired train, and Remus looked up curiously. He made those sounds himself sometimes when he was sad, but Remus had never heard his father make it before. Was his father sad? Why?

“Is it easy to breath, Remus?” his mother asked.

Remus blinked and shrugged, finding it a weird question but answering anyway. “Yes?”

“What about your leg, Remus?” she continued, peering at him. “You don’t play in the backyard as much as you did before.”

Remus looked back down, a little ashamed. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a small voice, his bare foot tracing the lines on the ground. And it was true, he was; he hadn’t left the house since he had come back, too afraid of the risk that came with big spaces to be willing. He had just stuck around his mum all day, following her like a duckling while he waited for the day to end. It was boring, but it was less scary that way. Nothing would happen so long as he was with his mum.

“I told you, Hope,” he heard his father mutter, and Remus jerked his head back up, drawn to the sound of his father’s voice. “He’s not ready.”  
  
“Lyall, he- “

“Ready for what?” Remus piped up.

There was a ringing silence, and Remus wondered if they forgot he was there. Finally, his father sighed again, this time with much less shuddering, and responded, “Your mother wants to know if you want to go back to school.”

“I wanna go back to school,” Remus said quickly, straightening. School! He had missed school, with his friends and the crafts and the milk every morning. People were nice there, they would listen to him and play with him. That’s what they were there for; they weren’t doing the dishes or cooking all day, like his mum was. They were happy all the time, like home used to be.

“I think it would be good for him,” his mother said quietly, her hands curling around her cup of tea, and Remus wondered how warm her hands were now. He missed holding them. “He needs to spend time with kids his own age, while he can.”

His dad made another scoffing sound, and Remus once again got the distinct impression they had forgotten he was still there. “I wanna go,” he repeated, energy running though his veins as he thought about the prospect. School! “We were adding and subtracking,” he added, as though this might help his case. “I was just learning how. We were using apples and birds and things.”

His father still looked unconvinced, and finally Remus felt the need to assure him that he would be a good monster there, too. Maybe that was the problem: they were afraid he would be mean and bad like every other monster once he left the house. “I won’t eat the other kids,” Remus promised. “I don’t want to eat my friends, I want to play with them.”

His mother made a sound of mingled amusement and sadness, and Remus wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. Still, anything was better than just a sigh, and Remus looked to his dad, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Did he say what he needed to say to go back?

“You’re not going to talk about what happened to you if you go, you understand?” his father finally said, turning to look at Remus with such a serious expression the boy stood up straighter. “You are not to tell any of the other children what you are or that you were bitten. If anyone asks anything, you were sick.”

“I was sick,” Remus repeated, nodding his head. He paused for a moment before asking, “So they don’t know I’m a monster? A, um, a where – a where’s wolf?”

His father expression, incredibly, grew even more serious, and Remus gulped. He didn’t know it was possible for his father to look so stern. “You don’t talk about it,” the man repeated firmly. “You were sick. That’s all. If your leg hurts and someone asks you about it, you say you hurt it while playing in the yard, but under no circumstances are you to say you were bitten by anything, is that understood?”

Remus nodded, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He could go to school, but only if he lied? “Do I have to lie?” he asked, wishing he could just go without having to remember any stories; what if he slipped up and forgot? “I don’t want to lie.”

“They won’t let you go to school otherwise, petit,” his mother sighed, her expression sad. “I’m afraid you’ll have to remember.”

“Is it because I’m a monster?” Remus asked with a sinking heart.

His father made an irritated noise, and Remus dropped his gaze back to his feet. “I don’t like lying, lying’s bad, you told me,” he sniffed, upset that he would have to do something bad just to get back to school. Weren’t monsters bad, and that’s why no one liked them? Then why were they telling him to do bad things?

“Sometimes you have to lie, Remy,” his mother said softly, kindly, her eyes as apologetic as her voice. “Sometimes it makes people feel better, like when someone gives you a present you don’t like but you say you do anyway. Do you know what I mean, Remus?”

Remus nodded, lying already. He sort of knew what she meant, that sometimes people wanted to hear one thing and in order to make them happy you would say it, even though it wasn’t true. Kind of like what he was doing right now.

People didn’t like knowing he was a monster, he supposed later while he lay in bed and watched the shadows play on the ceiling. Maybe it made them sad, or scared, like it did his parents, so by saying he was sick, they wouldn’t guess he was a monster, and then they would be happier for it.

He could do that. It didn’t sound too hard, right? He had been sick, and he had hurt his leg playing in the yard. Two things to remember. He could do that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus's first day back at school doesn't start the way he had hoped it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [](http://cursedinsanity.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cursedinsanity.livejournal.com/)**cursedinsanity**  

 

_Remus had the rosary clutched in his hands so tightly he knew there would be marks when he let go._

_He didn’t know why he bothered anymore. It served no real purpose; it did not connect him to any kind of higher power. It was a trinket, a memory, a habit he had formed over the years in the hopes of finding some sort of false comfort._

_Suddenly he snapped, hurling the rosary with so much force it knocked over one of Tonks’s favourite figurines. He was so disgusted with himself he could barely stand it._

_What was the point of praying anymore? It was obvious that no one was listening. Shit just kept piling up, higher and higher, until he was sure he was drowning in it. It didn’t matter how many times he apologised, wept, sobbed or silently pleaded for forgiveness; he continued to be punished, over and over and over again, and the end was still not in sight._

_Tonks was pregnant. With his child. His quite possibly - probably - lycanthropic child._

_God had no mercy. He never did._

 

 

“Hurry, mum, I don’t want to be late!”

“Ne t’inquiètes pas, Remy, you won’t be late.”

Remus attended St. Edmund’s Primary School, a Roman Catholic school filled with both Muggle and wizarding children. It was a brisk ten minute walk from home; a walk he took with his mother every morning, and it made him extremely happy to know that this hadn’t changed. This was especially important because Remus felt like he had enough energy to bolt there and back in two seconds, but despite the familiar route and the bright, pleasant morning, he was still nervous about being in such big spaces. His backyard had been familiar, and he had been bitten by a huge wolf. If his own backyard wasn’t safe, what made the neighbourhood any better?

Blah. He would be safe with mum. He would just have to deal with the extra energy.

“Mum?”

“Oui?”

Remus looked up at his mother with a smile. He loved it when his mum spoke French. He thought it sounded beautiful, like how perfume would sound. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi, mon petit prince,” his mother replied, her own smile soft and pretty, and Remus’s heart leapt. It was one of her old smiles, full of love and happiness and not at all forced, and Remus immediately wanted her to do it again.

“Non,” he corrected himself, spreading his arms out wide and spinning around in a circle. “Je t’adoooooooooore!”

His mother laughed, and Remus felt another burst of happiness fill his chest. “Moi aussi, Remy, but if we don’t hurry you will be late.”

“D’ac, d’ac, d’ac,” Remus agreed, feeling like a little duck. Deciding to pretend he was one, he began to waddle, quacking all the way to school and stopping to wiggle his imaginary tail every once in a while. Oh, to have a tail. Would he be able to wiggle it separately from his bottom? How would it feel to sit? How would pants work?

When they got to the entrance, Remus expected his mum to kiss him on the cheek and send him on his way; instead she pulled him aside and away from the crowd and knelt down in front of him, her hands gently resting on his arms. Her expression was very serious, and Remus wished she could smile again.

“Je t’adore,” Remus tried again; it had worked the first time, after all.

“Moi aussi, petit, but listen,” she said in a hushed voice. Remus was disappointed to see how easily she dismissed his words. “Remember what your father told you.”

“I was sick,” Remus recited in a low voice, fidgeting. He had forgotten he had to lie.

“And?”

“And I hurt my leg in the backyard.”

“And?”

“And, um...” See, this was why he hated lying. He had to remember everything. “I don’t say this?”

“You only say this if people ask,” his mother corrected him, her voice urgent. Fear flashed in her eyes, and her grip tightened. “Do you understand, Remus? This is very important.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “I say that if someone asks. But, mum, no one knows I’m a monster?”

A look of indecision crossed his mother’s face, and she brushed a strand of hair out of Remus’s face and tucked it behind his ear. “The ones who matter know what happened, but Remus, please don’t go around asking. Just stick to what we told you, okay?”

Remus bit his lip and nodded, wondering what exactly she meant by that. The ones who mattered? Who did that include? Michael, his best friend? Miss Starr, his teacher? The cook who fed him every day?

His mother still looked a bit uncertain, but finally she gave Remus a swift kiss on the forehead and stood up. “All right, Remus, well, you’re a big boy, and I know you can handle this. Amuse-toi bien, okay?”

“Okay,” Remus responded, trying to sound confident. He was a big boy, like she said; he could do this. “You’ll pick me up?”

“By the gate,” she said with a nod. “Comme toujours.”

“Je t’aime, maman,” Remus said again, hoping to catch a glimpse of her old smile. The one she gave was one of the newer ones, though, tighter and sadder than it used to be. It made Remus nervous.

“Je t’aime aussi, petit.” She ruffled his hair. “A bientôt.”

“Bye,” he said quietly after her, watching her disappear into the crowd. Suddenly, the courtyard seemed a lot bigger than it usually did, and Remus caught himself scanning all of the bushes and trees, even the really baby ones, for any mysterious shadows. His mum was gone, he realized with tears in his eyes, and he was outside; who was supposed to protect him now?

Before the tears could escape, however, he heard the familiar voice of Miss Starr calling the students in, and Remus bolted towards the door, desperate to get to the safety of his classroom. If his parents left him with Miss Starr, it meant that she could protect him, right? So he would be fine, so long as he stayed inside with her.

\----

“Lupin, Remus?”

Would Miss Starr still call him by his name? Or was it different now? He was a monster now; was that what people should call him? His parents didn’t really use his name much at home, after all, maybe that was why. Because it wasn’t his anymore.  
  
“Lupin, Remus?”

They were staring at him, he knew it. He could feel it, waiting for the teacher to call out his new name –  
  
“ _Lupin_?”

Remus jumped and felt his face warm. “Y-yes, Miss!” he stammered before sinking down a bit into his chair. He had been so preoccupied with his fear of being called a monster during register instead of his real name, that he had forgotten what his name actually was for a second. If they weren’t looking before, they were probably looking now.

Remus stared intently at his desk for the remainder of register, waiting for the call to line up for assembly. Maybe he was just making this up. Maybe he was just imagining all the stares; maybe only two or three people were looking at him, and maybe it was because he got syrup on his elbow during breakfast, something he had hid from his mum to keep from getting into trouble. Yeah, that was it. Just syrup on his elbow, nothing else.

Remus was thinking so hard he didn’t remember exactly when he got up and walked to assembly with the rest of his class; he didn’t even notice his shoe was untied until he sat down. He hoped his whole day wouldn’t go like this; what was the point of going to school if you couldn’t remember anything?  
  
Assembly itself was usually boring, and Remus tended to fidget a lot, especially on days like this when there was a class mass. He tried to listen to the sermon and readings, but he usually failed; today, though, he wasn’t sitting by a friend, and he found it easy to stop being paranoid when he was paying attention for once.

The readings were hard to follow – he wasn’t used to actually listening to them, and they used a funny language that sounded too old for him to understand – but they seemed kind of gory and scary to him this particular day. A part of him was morbidly curious as to what exactly they were about, but another part of him was glad he couldn’t understand; what if they were talking about monsters like him?

The sermon itself was kind of weird and given with more enthusiasm than usual, scaring Remus a little. The words ‘monster’ and ‘abomination’ were thrown out a few times and Remus immediately paid attention, fearing being thrown out of school, but also hoping that it would give him answers. He didn’t understand half of what was being said, but he gathered that it was important to say you were sorry in order to be forgiven by God and let into heaven.

So, if he apologised for being a monster, he’d be okay when he died? That sounded easy enough, but how was he supposed to apologise? Was he supposed to write a letter? Just say it out loud? He knew that when he turned six they could go to his First Confession, but he was going to die soon, way before he would reach his birthday. Would they make an exception for him if he asked? How would he explain why, if his parents said not to talk about what had happened to anyone? What would happen if he didn’t apologise in time? Would he go somewhere else, like that scary place where demons and evil creatures danced and played in the fire and burned people?

Mass passed by in a maelstrom of thoughts; a blink, and suddenly he was in line walking back; another, and he was in the classroom. All he could think about was apologising before it was too late, and coming up with a way to do so without breaking mum’s rule about not talking about what happened. He wanted to do it, had to do it, because he didn’t want to risk going to that place where bad things lived after he died.

Picking up his pencil, he bit his lip and made a decision. He would just apologise every day in his prayers, and write letters, and buy candles at church every time he could find some spare change. He’d be extra nice to people and be the perfect little boy with the perfect little smile. He would do whatever it took for him to be forgiven, and hopefully the effort would be noticed.

God was perfect, right? And nice and full of love, even for the worst of sinners.

So surely he wouldn’t ignore an apologising monster, would he?


End file.
